


These hands were made for holding

by wolfsan11



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ?? - Freeform, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Blushing, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Keith won't have it, M/M, PWP, Post-episode: s03ep05 The Journey, Praise Kink, Reunion Sex, Sappy, Shiro tries to stay quiet, Stubble Burn, Switching, Tender Sex, Top Keith (Voltron), Voltron S3, insane amounts of it, they take care of each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 16:51:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14024535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfsan11/pseuds/wolfsan11
Summary: Set S3, post reunion.Keith finds Shiro and they fall right back into each other in that inevitable way that marks everything about them. Shiro might look a little different from his usual put-together appearance, but Keith realises quickly that he doesn't much mind that. He might even find it incredibly appealing.





	These hands were made for holding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [@crushmeshiro](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%40crushmeshiro).



> For @crushmeshiro on twitter! Sorry this is so late, it got out of hand too aaahh, but I hope this is what you were looking for <3 ;; Thank you so much for prompting this, I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it!!! <3 <3
> 
> Thanks to @inatrice for beta-ing, I don't know what I'd do without you <3

There’s a breaking point somewhere between losing the love of your life and finding them again, where things settle in a strange haze of real and unreal.

And somehow, just this once, reality is forgiving.

For Keith, this is what’s real: Shiro’s skin beneath the pads of his fingers, jaw stubble prickling pleasantly enough to send a low throb of heat to his gut. Dimmed lights and warmth pressed to his side. A wide hand settled high on his thigh, thumb stroking maddeningly over the inseam. And of course, those grey eyes, filled with a myriad of emotions; joy, fading disbelief, amazement and the growing hints of desire rolled together, all of them contained under what he’s long learned to recognise as love.

When their mouths meet, it’s simple, chaste, just the softest brush of lips as they feel each other out, falling into patterns of unchanged familiarity despite months of separation. Or maybe they’ve become acclimatised to that too, and it’s that thought that causes Keith to stutter, stall, fingers trembling where they settle over Shiro's shoulders.

Shiro’s hardly had a moment to breathe since his return and he wonders suddenly if he’s pushing it too fast. How much is too much? Uncertainty almost has him pulling away, apologies brimming over his tongue, but he’s barely moved an inch before he’s tugged back in.

“It’s okay,” Shiro whispers, leaning into kiss him again.

Keith can feel the curve of his smile against his lips and it drowns away the doubts that plague him, sheer relief guiding him when Shiro doesn't let up, hands cupping his face and clamping tight over his hip, anchoring him to Shiro’s lap.

One spine-melting kiss turns into another and another, countless, until it's no longer so chaste, until Keith buzzes with a heady daze, left short of breath and of any lingering qualms. He opens himself to the pleasurable assault of everything he'd missed come back to him, grabs at Shiro's arms and can't bring himself to loosen the hold.

It has him shaking, kissing back with a passion he's never let himself hold back, but especially so when it came to Shiro. It's there in the press of their tongues, the nip of teeth in the hasty need to get close enough. As though with these actions he can somehow make a permanent space for himself inside Shiro.

He grinds down on instinct, met with an enthusiastic response in return that sends a spike of heat through every inch of his body, has him throwing off the last bit of caution.

It's been so long but, of course, nothing has changed between them.

Eventually, his chest grows tight with the need for air and it's with reluctance that they part, but only just far enough to rest their foreheads against one another, sharing breath and life and love in the space between them.

Shiro pushes him gently onto his back and kisses him again, quick and sweet, then moves away to grab the lube from the bedside table, shucking off his own clothes as he goes. Keith watches him, mouth trembling, stomach pooling with a liquid heat and he can't quite stop himself from blurting, “Let me?”

It brings Shiro to a pause, arms up, caught in the middle of taking off his tank-top. Despite the lack of lighting, it’s easy enough to make out his figure, the ripple of his toned back muscles.

It’s also easy to see the scars. New ones, ones that Keith knows hadn’t been there before. He gets onto his knees and shuffles closer towards Shiro, who remains frozen with his back turned away, absolutely stock-still. Keith reaches out a hand but stops before his fingers can make contact.

“Is that okay?” He asks. A lifetime ago, these questions had always been asked of him in quiet moments like these. It’s a difference he’s still settling into, learning with a patience he’d never known himself to have, but that Shiro had always trusted him with.

Shiro lets out a slow breath and lowers his arms. The shirt remains rucked up half-way over his chest, and the answer comes as he leans back into Keith’s hand. No hesitation. Keith smiles and lays his hand flat over warm skin, moving in to press a kiss against the closest shoulder. Shiro glances back at him, gaze unbearably soft, and there’s a pressure somewhere in his chest that releases at that.

The shirt comes off, followed swiftly by pants, Shiro lifting his hips up smoothly in a way that has Keith swallowing and licking his lips in nervous want. It doesn't go unnoticed because suddenly there’s a thumb pushing at his lower lip, tracing along where it's swollen red and slick. Keith’s stomach swoops at the touch, then again, at the realization that it’s Shiro’s right hand. He swallows again, throat gone dry, gaze moving up to find Shiro’s.

There's a glint in his eyes that makes Keith's pants that much tighter, has him pushing forward for another quick kiss. Shiro tugs at his shirt as he does, whispers “You too,” and just like that, they're both naked but for their boxers, chests heaving as though they’ve run a marathon.

It’s Shiro who initiates this time, pressing a large hand to the center of Keith's chest to guide him down onto his back again.

“I've got you,” he breathes, and Keith twitches, Shiro’s gaze on him suddenly far too intense and piercing for him to take just then. A part of him wants to protest, if only for all the skin laid bare before him and his mouth waters with his desire to put it to use. The words die away at the bright gleam in Shiro's eyes though, and he thinks he might just explode from sheer want as Shiro covers him with his body, caging him in with his forearms. He exhales as Shiro lowers himself further until they're pressed tight together, not an inch of space in between.

Air pushes into his lungs with all the slow trickle viscosity of honey. Shiro’s smiling, of course he is, but then he's pressing a trail of wet kisses down Keith's chest and Keith dazedly thinks how unfair it is when he wants to do the same for Shiro.

A tremor runs through him as Shiro tongues at a nipple but he doesn't linger there long enough. Keith's stomach muscles flutter at the next set of kisses that settle there and then Shiro is going lower still and Keith inhales sharply, knees snapping together around the bulk of Shiro's shoulders.

He finds an amused look thrown his way and scowls in return, feeling clumsy suddenly, flopping his hands undecidedly on his thighs, then on Shiro's head, sifting curiously through the soft hair. It’s still damp, fresh from the shower, and so much longer than either of them used to. A part of him registers a sad kind of pang for why it is so, misses the soft fuzz of Shiro’s old cut. The rest of him is too caught up in the heat between them though and the way Shiro is—

—swallowing him down without warning.

“Ah!”

Keith jolts, bucking up into the wet heat that surrounds him. Shiro's hands clamp down over his hips again in a deliciously bruising grip and Keith whines.

“Sh-Shiro!” His hips hitch up despite his best efforts to stay still, muscles quivering with how hard he tries to keep himself reigned in. Shiro opens up his throat, sinks down further until Keith is shivering, letting loose a strangled moan as he weaves a fist around through Shiro’s hair and pulls a little harder than he means to. Shiro swallows around him like a spasm, his fingers tightening on Keith’s skin for a brief second, his nails and prosthetic digging into flesh enough to give Keith pause, even as his mind reels with thoughts of  _ tight  _ and  _ hot _ and  _ so good _ .

And then Shiro is sucking, cheeks hollowing out with it and Keith nearly swallows his own tongue, scrambling to hold on, close to tears as he tilts up into the pleasure, his eyes rolling back. Shiro sucks again, harder, and he’s so close, so  _ close,  _ but then Shiro’s pulling up and away and Keith sobs in protest, calming only the slightest at the feel of a thumb rubbing soothing circles against his hip. Shiro smiles down at him, flush settling high on his cheeks.

“Still with me?” He rasps, voice already fucked out and it does something to Keith, has him pawing at Shiro for more. The sight of this man between his thighs is almost more than he can bear.

“Yeah,” he says, breathlessly. “I’m with you.”

Shiro smiles again, then kisses the head of his dick, coming away with pearly lips. The sight alone pulls all remaining air from Keith’s lungs. Shiro doesn’t stop there, moving down to pepper more kisses down his body, sucking bruises into spots where he knows Keith is extra sensitive.

The roughness of Shiro's stubble against the softness of his inner thigh pulls another shudder from him, involuntary. Shiro plants a wet kiss there and it has him arching into it, suddenly hyper aware of the slight beard burn around his own mouth.

He likes it. He likes it a lot.

“Shiro,” he starts, but he cuts off with a cry as Shiro licks a broad stripe up his dick, then suckles shallowly at the head. He gives Shiro’s hair another sharp tug and just about comes then and there when Shiro moans around him, the vibration bringing him hard and fast to the edge.

“W-wait!” he stammers, panicked. “Wait!”

Shiro pulls off immediately with a wet sound and Keith's eyes are drawn like an errant magnet to his mouth, and the swollen slickness of his lips.

“What is it? Are you okay?” Shiro asks, and while most of him is alert, weary about hurting him, there’s the slightest slur to his words. Keith looks at him, at the wild tumble of his hair where Keith had run his fingers through them, at the tent in his boxers, the flush setting low over the bridge of his nose. Something in his head goes  _ ping _ as he makes the connection.

“I want—”

Keith stops, red blooming in his cheeks. He’s never been one for beating about the bush and this is just Shiro. Shiro, who has seen him at his best and at his worst, who had shown him the same in return. But suddenly that doesn't make it any easier. He steels himself, desire winning over reluctance, earnestness winning over the thrum of uncertainty.

“I wanna take care of you. Please?”

Shiro looks at him in surprise, and Keith stares as he turns an even deeper shade of pink. It makes sense to him and he doesn’t understand the surprise. It’s not like they haven’t done this before, let alone this way. But then again, in all their time together, they haven’t had so many opportunities.

They’d so often made do with heated makeouts and hurried handjobs in the quiet moments in between; Garrison or Castle, duty always called. And Shiro, of course, had had a way of putting Keith first, so skilled in having Keith wound up and senseless beneath him that it was all he could do to gather his thoughts enough to occasionally suggest the reverse.

He’s not about to let this one go.

He stares up at Shiro imploringly, hoping to telegraph his intentions, and at least some of it must get through because Shiro averts his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair.

“I . . . Okay,” he says, a little shyly, and Keith—

God. Keith’s really not gonna last long at this rate.

* * *

“Is this okay?” Keith asks quietly. With just two fingers in, the lube eases his way but Shiro’s still tight, only just beginning to loosen up. Laid out on his back, he looks vulnerable, an arm up over his face, turned into the crook of his elbow. He barely makes a sound, even like this, but Keith sees the bob of his throat. Hears the slightest hiccup in his breathing rhythm, and the way his left leg twitches up, heel digging into the mattress.

He exhales, feeling a little like he might explode just from the sight alone.

Shiro nods in response to his question but he doesn’t lift up his arm. With a frown, Keith twists his fingers in a little harder, searching with each thrust until he finds the spot that makes Shiro jerk involuntarily, throat contracting around a bitten-off cry. His chest rises and falls heavily, flush spreading down his neck and all the way down to his nipples. Keith’s gaze falls further, down to where Shiro’s hard and standing at attention, leaking already just from this, thighs spreading just that bit wider, muscles clenching and trembling with every curl of Keith’s fingers.

Fuck.  _ Fuck. _

It’s far from their first time, and yet somehow Keith still finds his gut clenching tight with nerves like they’re back at the Garrison all over again, fumbling shyly as they map out each other’s bodies. He’s not sure what’s brought it on, not sure what has his heart beating against his ribs so much.

He does know what he wants though.

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching to pet gently at Shiro’s face, thumbing the bolt of his jaw. Shiro takes a moment to orient himself before looking up slowly.

“I-I wanna hear you,” Keith says, just as he pushes in with another finger. It makes his face heat at the frankness, but it’s worth it for the way Shiro’s eyes go wide and his hips jolt up off the bed reflexively, Galra fist curled tight around the sheets. The sounds are muffled away behind bitten lips so Keith fucks in a little harder, catching against that spot again and again, thrilling when Shiro gasps like he’s been electrocuted.

“Wanna hear the sounds you make,” Keith continues. Shiro looks at him like he’s just hung up the stars himself and it makes him pursue it, breathlessly, pressing in tighter circles against that spot just to drink in Shiro’s reactions. “You’re beautiful like this, you always are. You don’t have to hide. Please . . . ”

It’s worth it, when the tense coil of Shiro’s muscles loosen all at once. On the next thrust, Shiro lets out a stuttering moan, quiet but so, so hot. Keith grins, heady with it, and he leans into kiss at that slack mouth, going lower to suck a bruise to the line of his throat.

“Good boy,” he whispers against skin, and Shiro laughs shakily.

“God . . . Baby, you’re gonna kill me,” Shiro says. Keith only raises a brow at him. He traces his nails along Shiro’s cheekbone and up, winds his hands into Shiro’s hair. Says, with far more bravado than he feels just then, “But I haven’t even done this yet.”

And he pulls.

The reaction is instantaneous. Shiro groans, loud and unleashed, eyes rolling up as he arches into the sting. Keith watches him twitch in pleasure, watches as precome dribbles down onto his taut stomach.

“Fuck,” Keith says, and god,  _ fuck _ . He’d had the suspicion but he’d never thought he’d get rewarded with such a reaction. “You . . . You love this don’t you?”

Shiro looks at him through a half-lidded gaze, and if there’s any embarrassment to be found it dissolves at the sheer awe that Keith knows paints his face. He doesn’t bother concealing it; Shiro had always elicited that reaction from him and there was no point to hiding it when he knew him so well.

“D-do that again,” Shiro says, and Keith complies easily, twisting at his hair hard enough to pull his head back, forcing him to bare his neck. Shiro scrabbles at the sheets as Keith rubs relentlessly against that spot inside, grinding in until the man’s almost shaking apart with a low whine.

“I-I'm ready!” he blurts, and his voice wavers, held on the thinnest edge of desperation. Keith’s mouth goes dry and he slows his movements, pulling a dismayed whimper from Shiro.

“Keith, please, you can . . .  _ please _ .” Shiro ends on a whisper.

“Okay,” Keith manages, and stares dumbly at where his fingers still rest. They've done this before, he thinks, wildly. They have.

“Keith?” Shiro asks, and Keith shakes his head and leans forward to kiss Shiro in reassurance, but mostly just because he can. His fingers slip out and Shiro sighs, eyes shining as he gazes at him steadily.

There's trust there. There’s love.

Keith swallows, trying to clear his spinning head. He really might not last very long like this, but like hell he's not going to make Shiro feel good before he gives in. He grabs at the lube bottle to slick himself up impatiently, not bothering to wait long enough to warm it up. The cold stings but he ignores it, shakily pumping himself and thinking desperately of anything but the next step lest he end things too early.

“Eager?” Shiro asks, smugly, apparently having recovered his snark in the time since they’d begun this. Keith narrows his eyes at him.

“I'm not the one who can't stay still,” he says, teasing, and Shiro’s hips stop shifting over the sheets even as his face goes red in realisation. Not that the blush had really lessened at all from the start.

“W-well, I—”

He breaks off as Keith lifts one of Shiro's toned legs and pulls it up high over his shoulder, nearly bending him in half in the process. Shiro wraps his other leg around his waist, pupils blown out with lust, and Keith has to take another moment just to breathe at the sight before him; disheveled hair and red-bitten mouth and peaked nipples. Muscled thighs squeezing him tight, the dip of his stomach, and the sculpted V of his hips. Shiro is a sight, even as he squirms at the intensity of Keith’s stare.

“Keith—”

Keith hums in satisfaction and then he lines himself up and slowly slides in, Shiro choking on his words as he clenches around him. Keith doubles over at the sensation but he shudders and forces himself still, letting Shiro adjust to the intrusion. He doesn’t move until Shiro's arms come to grasp at his, face twisted in utter need.

“You can move,” Shiro says, “Please.”

Keith swears lowly and starts off slow, fucking in with shallow thrusts, feeling his way into it with care. Shiro lays back, grasping at the sheets, sighing for each inch Keith gains until he bottoms out. Pre-come spills over and onto his stomach, over his abs and Keith leans down to swipe a finger through it and bring it to his mouth. It earns him a sharp inhale and Shiro squeezes down around him again.

“Fuck,” Shiro hisses, and Keith aims a shaky grin his way, as though he’s not just as wound up, if not more. He dips down to lick at Shiro’s mouth and rolls his hips, fire spreading butter-smooth down his spine and in his belly as Shiro whines with each thrust, head falling back heavily onto the pillows.

This is familiar. This is right. For every moan Shiro lets out, Keith’s gut tightens, orgasm building up slow and steady. He stutters on the next thrust, then grinds his hips against Shiro’s. In response, Shiro bites at his own hand, muffling a high-pitched moan. Keith frowns, bucking into him harder, but the sounds are once more extinguished in the meat of Shiro’s palm.

Breathing gone ragged with the next few thrusts, Keith reaches out to grab at it and Shiro fixes him with a wide-eyed look.

“I wanna hear you,” Keith says, tongue gone elastic like it’s no longer a part of him. “Y-you never have to hide. Not from me. I wanna see you fall apart and know that I’m responsible for it.” He pushes closer, hitching Shiro’s leg up higher over his shoulder; the next thrust goes deep, so deep it has Shiro gasping and shaking, teeth clacking around another moan. Keith keeps at it, words spilling from him without thought.

“I missed you so much but you’re  _ here  _ now and I—I’m gonna love you so good, Shiro, please, let—let me see you, let me hear you—”

Shiro cries out on the next thrust and it rings out clear, both his hands flying up to sink into the pillow beneath his head. His eyes flutter, gleaming bright and feverish, and he’s flushed and panting, mouth parted, painting the prettiest of pictures Keith’s ever seen. And Keith wonders suddenly how he’s allowed this, wonders how any of this is for him to have. To see Shiro so open and trusting,  _ letting him— _

“Come on,” Shiro whispers, and Keith fucks in again on autopilot, burning up at the sound of his voice. “Come on,” Shiro says again. “M-more, sweetheart. H-harder!”

Shiro stares straight up at him, no more hiding and it hits Keith like a truck, has him reaching down to palm at Shiro, twisting his wrist to rub just a little too rough over the head. Shiro bucks up at once, mouth opening up wide and wet. The sudden movement nearly throws him off but Keith doesn’t relent. This is what he can give Shiro. This is what he can do.

Keith grinds in a little harder, strokes him off steadily, thumbing at his slit and Shiro lets out a noise like he’s been punched, quaking, spine arching as he pushes into the touch.

He’s beautiful.

Keith can’t seem to catch his breath; he folds forward to mouth messy kisses to the sweat-slick skin just above Shiro’s heart, whispers a litany of praise, every ounce of him unbuckled by—this. All of this. Another wet kiss and Shiro clenches a hand in his hair suddenly, tight and desperate, holding Keith’s head against his chest and even that sparks at the pool of heat in his stomach.

“K-Keith—” Shiro starts to say, but Keith knows he’s too strung out to put together a sentence now and he doesn’t leave Shiro hanging any longer.

“Come for me,” Keith says. “Come on, Shiro. You can—”

And Shiro comes with a near silent cry, white striping up his belly and almost all the way up to his chin. Keith fucks him through it, stroking him until he’s sobbing, until he’s wrung out and gasping, and only then does he let himself go. His vision whites out as climax drags him down into its clutches with an unforgivable wrench to his gut. He groans, seeing stars in the dark of his eyelids—and oh, when had he shut them—and he’s still babbling praises, a distant blur of ‘ _ I love you _ ’ and ‘ _ you’re so good, so good for me _ ’, of ‘ _ you’re beautiful _ ’ and ‘ _ Shiro, Shiro, Shir—!’ _

Awareness comes slowly with the sensation of fingers trailing gently through his hair. Keith opens his eyes a crack, face still smooshed against Shiro’s chest, and finds Shiro watching him lazily, positively glowing with a radiant if dopey smile.

“Hey,” he murmurs, easy as you please, and even though his voice sounds like he’s been chewing on gravel, it’s all absurdly normal. His cheeks dimple on just the one side and Keith feels like he’s been punched. His lower half buzzes with a strange numbness and he slowly catalogues if each part of himself is still attached, blushing at the realisation that he’s still inside Shiro.

“H-hey,” he says, cringing as his throat clicks with dryness.

“That was fantastic,” Shiro mumbles lazily and Keith has to suppress a laugh, a warm flush settling into his chest. He reaches up to comb a hair through Shiro’s bangs, briefly distracted as he pushes stray strands away from his forehead.

“Yeah? You certainly seemed to like the, uh, the hair thing . . . ”

Predictably, Shiro gets all embarrassed again, covering his face with a hand.

“I . . . maybe a little, yeah,” he admits. Keith laughs then, and he goes to say something but Shiro reaches out suddenly and he goes still as a thumb traces over his mouth and the inflamed skin surrounding it.

“Ouch,” Shiro mutters, concerned, “That looks like it hurts. I’ll have to shave—”

“Actually—” Keith says, a little too loud, then stops, squirming inside at Shiro’s confusion. “I . . . I kinda like it,” he tapers off into a mumble.

Shiro’s eyes twinkle and Keith sighs at the teasing smirk he gets.

“Oh, really?”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “It’s pretty . . . hot. Thinking of . . . other places where . . .”

That’s as far as he gets before he shuts himself up and thinks of bolting from the room. Shiro just smiles though, soothing a hand up his side.

“Well,” he says softly, and there’s this look there that puts Keith at ease, something gentle and thankful, if desirous. “As tempting as that is, you might have to wait a while for round two.” And this, with a dramatic pout, “Alas, I’m not as young as I used to be!”

Keith snorts, thumping a hand against Shiro’s bicep. He goes to lean up on trembling arms but then Shiro shifts a little to reach out for him and Keith nearly faceplants into his chest again, pleasure curling up his spine as he slips out. They shiver, overstimulated and sore from their activities after what had been far too long a gap of abstinence.

“D-don’t do that,” he pants and Shiro has the grace to look sheepish, though it’s ruined when his mouth cracks wide open around a yawn. Keith’s heart clenches hard around a burst of fond amusement as Shiro blinks sleepily up at him, tired out beyond belief but still looking so—so—

He can’t help leaning in to kiss him again, hands shaking as they entwine with Shiro’s. But that’s fine. It’s fine because Shiro is kissing him back, tugging him closer like he can’t bear to have him so far. It’s fine, because they’re right back to how they used to be. Changed, yes, but maybe they can make something better of it.

“I missed you,” Keith says between one kiss and another, slowing down as the high of it all settles into his bones. “I missed you so much, but you’re here now.” It’s like a weight has been shorn off of him and he feels . . . light.

And Shiro, as always, sees right through him.

“I love you too,” he says, and he wraps an arm around Keith’s shoulders and just holds him. Keith sighs contendedly, snuggling closer. Logic wars in him for a moment; they should get up. Shiro’s tired and Keith knows he needs to get them both clean before they fall asleep like this.

But then, he’d waited this long to have Shiro in his arms again . . .

Yeah. It could wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't often write smut, let alone bottom Shiro, so please let me know what you think!


End file.
